I Speak For This Child: True Stories of a Child Advocate (33 page)

As soon as I had heard that Patty had accepted the job, I asked where Cory might go. Mitzi mentioned that there were two possibilities: one nearer his sister, another in his original school district where he had many friends.

“Does that mean he’ll have to change schools with less than a month of the semester to complete?”

“He’s not lighting any fires, so what difference does it make?” Mitzi snapped.

“Couldn’t you find him a temporary bed in his school district? There are a lot of end-of-year activities he’s looking forward to.”

“Listen, Gay, I’ll be happy if I can get one of these families to take him.”

“Have you thought about introducing them to Cory ahead of time? Maybe he’d accept a new family better if he felt part of the selection process.”

“Puhleeeze! Do you know the trouble we’d have if we let kids pick their placements?”

“Yes, I see your point,” I said, even though I didn’t, “but this is a special case. Unlike Cory, most kids have been abused and are afraid to return home, while Cory thinks home is paradise. If he were included, he might feel ownership of the decision and he might make more of an effort to fit in.”

“Well, it ain’t gonna happen anytime soon,” Mitzi said with finality in her voice.

Cory was moved to the Hornsbys, who also had a seriously asthmatic small boy, two children of their own, and a teenage boy they were in the process of adopting. Cory was so dejected he stopped working in the new school and would sleep through classes. When Mrs. Hornsby caught him smoking after warning him twice that it wasn’t permitted, he was transferred to the Sheldons. They had a retarded daughter of their own, were raising their infant grandchild, and were already the foster parents of the most notorious children in our district: two- and three-year-old siblings who killed animals for kicks.

I complained to Lillian. “They’re treating this kid like a Ping-Pong ball.”

“And he’s learning the system,” Lillian agreed sadly.

“Marvelous system, isn’t it? You don’t like where you are living, so you figure out how to get thrown out, and thus find that rebellion brings more concern than compliance.”

“You’re right. Kids would rather have the negative attention than be ignored.”

“Then how can we halt the cycle?”

“If he wants out, there will always be a rule he’ll figure out how to break or a line he’ll be willing to cross,” Lillian added.

“Yes, but no matter what rule one of my sons breaks, I don’t get to throw him out, do I? Eventually my son learns to comply or suffer the consequences. The consequence for Cory is getting what he wants—or thinks he wants.”

Mrs. Sheldon was cooperative in arranging visits between Cory and his father but told me that Cory acted much worse in the days after the visit. “Maybe he shouldn’t see him until the trial, otherwise I’ll never get him to settle down.”

“I understand why you feel that way,” I said, “but there is no definite date. I think that a long, undetermined delay might make Cory even more angry.”

Mrs. Sheldon said she’d go along with my recommendations, but a few days after the most recent visit with his father, Cory called me.

“They arrested me!” he shouted in a combination of rage and fear. “I didn’t even do nothing and this guy phoned the police!”

“Calm down, Cory,” I said. “What happened?”

He explained that he had been on his way to catch the school bus when he looked into a neighbor’s car and saw a pack of cigarettes lying on the front seat. “I was just going to take one or two,” he explained in a whiny voice, “but the guy saw me from his window and called 911 before I had the car door open.”

“You didn’t take anything?” I asked.

“No, I swear I didn’t, so how could they arrest me?”

“You did open the door and intended to steal cigarettes.”

“Just a couple of smokes,” he responded belligerently.

“But, Cory, they did not belong to you. Do you understand that?”

“Is that a reason to fingerprint me and everything?”

“Is the neighbor pressing charges?”

“I dunno, but I got another HRS worker on top of Mitzi and she’s even more of a pain in the butt.”

I took the name of his delinquency caseworker and called her. She said that they were trying to work out a deal with the neighbor. The Sheldons were throwing him out anyway, so Cory wouldn’t be in the area much longer. I suggested that Cory be placed in a facility where he would receive the counseling he desperately needed. The worker reminded me that they were under orders to select the “least restrictive” environment.

“I like the theory,” I told her, “but after so many failures, these foster homes are not the solution. What Cory needs are some successes.” I hung up the phone angry at everyone, especially myself.

I realized that I should have seen this coming. Cory had been a time bomb waiting to explode. He had been furious when the court removed him from the home of his father and grandfather, enraged when they placed him in a shelter home, then moved him to another group facility. His first foster care placement with the authoritarian MacDougals had been the most destructive situation yet, and when they threw him out, he felt like a failure. Then just when he made his first real attachment, to Patty and Birdie, they had to move.

A few days later Mitzi announced that the Palomino Ranch had some temporary beds available. I despised substituting the term “bed” for a home for a child. To HRS, foster children were trouble units to be “placed” in “beds.” Beds had to be in approved homes that contained the requisite number of bathrooms, smoke detectors, and fire extinguishers. There was never any mention of the family’s personality, the style of parenting, the psychological match of child to parent.
Attachment
and
caring
and
love
were words that were never uttered, and certainly nobody seemed to speculate about what the child might have wanted.

To complicate matters, this was the highly emotionally charged period when we were trying to arrange a visit to Tammy in Washington and when Red Stevenson’s case was being prepared for trial. As plea bargains and prosecution strategies were discussed, I soon realized that any situation that would make Alicia happy had Cory despondent and vice versa. Even I became confused as to what was bad news and what was good news, and wondered if it might not have been better for the Stevenson children to have been appointed separate guardians.

Lillian dismissed my concerns. “First of all, we don’t have enough volunteers to cover all the cases as it is, so a family is handled by one advocate. I know it is unusual to have the children turn against each other, but I know you treat each of them as individuals. And if you need to talk about anything, I’m always here.”

The next day I stopped by to take Alicia to a meeting with the prosecutor to go over some details of her testimony. While I waited for Alicia to finish dressing, Ruth came outside and stood by my car. “Mitzi talked me into taking a new kid yesterday.” With her head she indicated a boy raking leaves. “Yeah, I know I said I wouldn’t take boys, but they didn’t have a place for that one and I had a twin bedroom empty with a separate bathroom, so I said okay. I’m not keeping Larry unless they give me another boy to keep him company.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t even say it! I can’t consider taking Cory because of how Milo feels about Rich.”

“Cory’s more like Alicia than Rich.”

“I know … let’s see if this kid lasts through the weekend.”

“Please, think about it, Ruth,” I begged just as Alicia appeared in a skirt so short I could see the lace edge of her panties. “I’d love those kids to have each other again.”

On the way to the courthouse, we stopped for lunch at a deli. Alicia was in a foul mood.

“What’s wrong?”

“I am sick and tired of everybody telling me and Cory what to do.”

“Hey, kiddo, who are you talking to?” I put down my onion bagel and pulled out my notebook. “Now, what do you, Alicia Stevenson, want?”

“I don’t want Cory to ever live with my dad again. That’s more important than Dad going to prison.”

“I’m glad you mentioned that because there is a chance your father might plead guilty if he is offered a less harsh sentence than he would get after a trial.” I looked down at what I had written. “So you’d like to have a plea bargain that protects Cory, right?”

“Yeah, and if they can’t arrange that, then I’ll go in front of a jury and do my best to convince them I am telling the whole damn truth!” Alicia took a bite of her bagel like she was a starving predator and it was her prey.

Once we were in Grace’s office, she went over Alicia’s ages during the first sexual encounters with her father and had her describe the marine shop bathroom. Alicia again confused the ages when she was in the tool shed and the marine shop.

Grace held up two pieces of paper and spoke firmly. “Alicia, are these statements you wrote?” Alicia acknowledged that they were. “I want you to take them home and go over them until you remember what happened, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alicia said, more snidely than I might have preferred.

In the large outer office Alicia began chatting with one of the secretaries. Grace touched my shoulder and pulled me aside. “If she makes a joke out of this, it will blow the case.”

“Grace, I don’t know if it is proper to do this, but if I have information on Mr. Stevenson’s past, should I give it to you?”

“Sure. We’re on the same side, aren’t we?”

“I’m on Alicia’s side,” I stated firmly. “I hope it isn’t too late to mention this—and you probably know it already—but when her mother was here she told me that Red’s first wife was killed by him. He was acquitted of manslaughter.”

Grace paled. “Where was that?”

“Tulsa, Oklahoma. Didn’t you run a background check on his criminal record?”

“It might not have ranged far enough, but it is probably inadmissible evidence.” She went on to explain the legal ramifications, and while I could see they protected a man’s rights, I felt they were essentially unfair to the victim.

“What else do you know?” she asked with a tired sigh.

I listed all of Red’s wives. “Maybe some of them would be willing to talk to you. Especially Denise Rhodes.”

“Sunny’s mother?”

I nodded.

“Now she might be useful.”

A few days after Cory moved to the ranch, Grace Chandler called me. “Mr. Stevenson has accepted a plea bargain. He will plead guilty to a second-degree felony for sexual battery of Alicia and in exchange the state will drop the charge on Dawn Leigh Pruitt. He’ll be adjudicated guilty and receive two years of house arrest, which means he has to be either at work or home, and ten years’ probation, a total of a consecutive twelve years. That will make him fifty-seven when he gets done. Also, he’ll be classified a certified sexual offender on his natural daughter and won’t ever be permitted to have children in his home again, including custody of Cory. He may have supervised visits with Cory, only, but no contact with Alicia or Dawn. He must attend mental health counseling for sex offenders, pay court costs, the fees for Alicia’s counseling, and will be responsible for some of Cory’s medical and other expenses. What do you think?”

“Alicia was most worried about protecting Cory, and she really doesn’t want to have to tell her story in a courtroom. But don’t you think that is a very liberal deal for a man who is looking at a minimum mandatory of twenty-five years?”

“Yes, but this does protect the children from the ordeal of trial and further contact with their father.”

“Then it is over?” I asked.

“No. The plea offer will be shown to Judge Donovan Monday morning for his acceptance.”

Immediately I phoned Alicia, but since she was out, I spoke to Ruth first. “Now that he has admitted his guilt, Alicia’s story is validated without her having to undergo the trauma of a trial,” she said enthusiastically.

Later that evening Alicia called. She did not want to attend the plea bargain hearing. “I just want it to be over.”

My next call was to Mitzi Keller. She had not been told the news and said she was bitterly disappointed that Red Stevenson might avoid any time in prison.

“I think this may be the best result, at least from the kids’ point of view,” I replied. “Alicia can get on with her life without having to testify in public, and once Cory understands he will not be going home again, he might look at his options more realistically and make a better adjustment.”

“Cory will also have to realize that a man does not plead guilty if he is innocent,” Mitzi added astutely.

Cory, though, had a different take on the news. “Dad did that to make it easier on us. It doesn’t mean he’s guilty.”

“However, this does mean you can’t live with him again.”

“What about me living with Gramps?”

“I don’t know about that. The authorities might think he has too many health problems.”

“He’d have me to help him, and in another year I’ll be able to drive!”

“There’s also your mother …”

“I’m not living with that bitch,” he replied in a fierce voice that dissolved into tears.

“Cory … I’m sorry.” His crying increased. “Cory …”

“Just … don’t”—he said between sobs—”don’t hang up.”

I stayed on for a long time. Unfortunately I was traveling to Boston for the weekend, but I promised to visit him on Tuesday.

Monday, though, brought another surprise. The judge rejected the plea bargain because the sentence was too light. He was insisting on a trial in two weeks. Grace Chandler hurriedly scheduled a pretrial meeting for that Friday.

I reached Alicia first with the news. She responded passively. “Whatever …”

Cory, though, took it harder. “What else can go wrong in my life?”

I reminded him that I would visit the next day.

Imagining a rustic retreat set on rolling acres of green pastureland, I was bitterly disappointed by the “ranch.” Cory had not been settled into one of the family-style cottages, but was being kept for evaluation in the shelter dormitory section, which contained several dozen tough and formidable boys, many of whom were in transition either into or out of the juvenile justice system.